


Quadrigenti

by Fig Newton (sg_fignewton)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drabble Series, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Introspection, teamy goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_fignewton/pseuds/Fig%20Newton
Summary: A series of unrelated short ficlets, each exactly 400 words, written to various prompts.There's team fluff, introspection, humor, a little angst, and bonus Sergeant Siler and Janet thrown in for good measure.





	1. Command Performance

**Author's Note:**

> These 400-word ficlets were written over a three day period in late December 2013. The prompts for each can be found in the summary of each chapter. Semagic's word count has them all at exactly 400 words, but as always, AO3's word count can sometimes differ.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Jack are spectators to Teal'c and Daniel's command peformance. Pointless feel-good fluff.

Sam, trusting that the rapt audience of natives was too focused on Daniel and Teal'c to pay any attention to her movements, sidled over to the back of the huge instrument and carefully cracked open the lid. Jack joined her a few minutes later, watching as she raised on tiptoes in order to peer inside.

"Classic Steinway, Carter? Or are we talking Casio here?"

Sam's eyes shifted leftward to give him a fleeting glance, then returned to their focus within. To be fair, Jack thought, her penlight was clenched between her teeth, and she couldn't actually answer him anyway. He abandoned further attempts at conversation and made himself useful instead by aiming his own penlight inside. His extra inches of height allowed him the dignity of keeping both feet planted firmly on the ground and a slightly better view.

 _Definitely Steinway_ , he decided. The metal of the wires and the frame wasn't steel - that bluish sheen, as well as Sam's incredulous nod, confirmed that it was actually some kind of composite that included naquadah - but the soundboard, the taut wires, and the tiny hammers wrapped in a greenish material that came flying up to strike them looked uncannily similar to the baby grand piano he'd desecrated in his grandparents' home by banging out Chopsticks.

This one, of course, was no baby. The closest equivalent back home would probably be a concert grand. Daniel had muttered something about ninety-six keys rather than the usual eighty-eight before he started to play.

Carter gently lowered the lid and removed the penlight from her mouth. "Beautiful sound," she breathed almost reverently.

Jack nodded, feeling a pang as he followed her gaze to look back at the other half of SG-1. The music poured out as Daniel's fingers danced furiously over the keys, but Teal'c had no trouble keeping up with him as he improvised an intricate storm of percussion on the gorgeously alien drum kit that the king and queen had offered. Turquoise and deep black animal skins vibrated beneath the carved bones that Teal'c wielded as skillfully as his staff weapon.

"I've always wanted to learn to play the violin," Sam said, her voice wistful. "One day, maybe." Then, catching his expression, "Not musical either, huh, sir?"

"I'll have you know that I play a mean triangle," Jack huffed.

He exercised colonelish discretion and pretended that he didn't see her grin.


	2. Danger, Will Robinson!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is on the alert for danger! Very slightly cracky.
> 
> This one is for Thothmes. I've included her prompt in the end notes, to avoid spoiling the punch line.

"Stay sharp," Jack ordered as the Gate snapped shut. "Where there's naquadah, there's usually Jaffa."

Teal'c, studying the ground, frowned. "I see no signs of recent activity, O'Neill. A base might be already long established."

"Just our luck if there was," Jack muttered. He glanced over at the DHD. "All right there?"

"Everything's good," Daniel reported.

"Sir, the naquadah reading's pretty strong. Bearing... due east." Sam fiddled with her sensors. "I'd guess half a klick away, maybe a bit more."

"Let's move out, then." Jack glared uneasily at the clear green sky. It was too quiet, too peaceful. The shoe was going to drop any minute, he just _knew_ it.

But it didn't.

The absence of trees on the broad meadow meant an ambush was impossible. They walked easily through the long grasses, seeing nothing bigger than the alien equivalent of a butterfly and, once, something the size of a mouse. 

Teal'c's frown deepened as the silence around them grew. Sam gripped her rifle a little more tightly. Even Daniel kept glancing over his shoulder.

The low hill which housed the opening to the mine was the only thing interrupting the sameness of the plain. The others kept back as Daniel carefully examined the shored-up entrance, then ventured a little inside.

"It's okay," he said finally, ducking his head as he came back outdoors.

"You don't sound very convinced," Jack said sharply.

"Oh, I am. It's perfectly solid. I wasn't expecting an abandoned mine to be in such good condition, that's all. Barring earthquakes, it should be stable for decades to come."

As one, they all froze, gazes focused downwards, waiting for the ground to start trembling beneath them. Nothing happened, though, and feeling a little sheepish, they snapped on flashlights and ventured inside....

Hours later, the iris scissored open and SG-1 walked though the event horizon. Even from the control room, Hammond could see their widened, stretched eyes. Teal'c actually looked perturbed.

"What happened?" he called anxiously through the microphone. 

"We're fine, sir." Jack replied, his voice slightly dazed. "That mine's just what we need. Carter estimates there's enough naquadah left in there to make half a dozen generators at least."

Hammond frowned. "Then what's the problem, Colonel?"

"Nothing. It all went... fine."

"Fine," echoed Carter and Jackson, blinking.

Hammond leaned towards Harriman. "Tell Fraiser to check them out _thoroughly,_ " he instructed quietly. "In isolation, just in case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thothmes prompted, "The all-team freak out (suitably restrained on Teal'c's part) after a mission goes totally right and as originally planned, and without incident."


	3. Defining Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Lord Spyridon, who asked for Daniel and Sha're. I quite agree that there's never enough fic about them.
> 
> Shameless Daniel/Sha're sappiness ahead! A bit of suggestive banter, too.

"Kho'fee," Sha're pronounced carefully, eyeing the dark liquid in the small earthenware bowl.

"Close enough," Daniel told her.

Leaning foward, she breathed in the steam, her nose wrinkling slightly. "The smell is sharp. Does its taste bite the tongue?"

"Some people think so. They dull the bitterness with sugar or milk."

"But you do not," Sha're concluded. She sniffed again. "This drink gives you pleasure?"

"I drink it as a stimulant, but -- well, yes, it does give me pleasure. I enjoy its taste and its effects."

"What effect does it stimulate, Danyel?" Her eyes went half-lidded as a smile curled her mouth.

He grinned. "Not the kind of stimulation you give me," he assured her, tracing that smile with a gentle finger. "It delays the need for sleep and increases alertness."

"Like the seeds and leaves of _k'sub'ra_ ," Sha're nodded. "It is a spice, but also has many other uses."

Daniel's head tilted slightly, brows drawn together as he tried to unravel the unfamiliar word. Casting his mind back to Ancient Egyptian herbology, he rolled the syllables around his tongue. "Oh! Of course. Coriander. A stimulant, yes, and an antidote for poison. Stomach upsets. Helps speed healing of sores." _When they don't turn septic,_ he added mentally.

"And this kho'fee, it too can heal?"

Daniel chuckled. "Many like to think so, but no. It has its benefits, but it has drawbacks, too." He thought for a moment, remembering a furtive offer from Skaara that had ended with Sha're's furious shout and Skaara's scurried footsteps fleeing their tent. "It is not as enslaving or harmful as _qar'kah_ root," he said, "but once a person begins drinking it, the body continues to crave it. It is difficult to stop. It can also interfere with sleep even when a person is weary and desires it."

"And yet, my husband, you wish to drink this?" Sha're dipped a cautious finger into the earthenware bowl, ignoring the heat, and licked. Her eyes widened. "You _like_ this?"

Daniel laughed, curving his own fingers around the bowl. "Just three packets left from the Air Force rations," he said. "I might as well enjoy it while I can."

Sha're frowned. "You miss this piece of your world, then."

"I'll miss it when it's gone," he conceded, even as he drew her close. "But I promise you, Sha're: even without coffee, I'd much rather be here with you."


	4. A Matter of Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Ivorygates, who asked for _Teal'c: Earth food_. Set in the aftermath of COTG.

The first time Teal'c ate processed food from Earth, his symbiote became so agitated that he wondered if his SGC captors were attempting to poison him.

He had only been on the planet for a short period at that point - eighteen hours, O'Neill had announced as he followed the tray-bearing soldier into the holding cell, although Teal'c had no way of knowing how "eighteen hours" translated into the horns and symbols that the Jaffa used to mark time. He was not hungry, but a wise warrior knew to eat whenever food was proffered against the risk of a starving future. He gave a courteous nod of thanks to the nervous-looking soldier and a second nod of acknowledgment to O'Neill, who promised to return as soon as he could.

As the two humans exited the room, Teal'c ignored the _snick_ of the lock and inspected the tray and its contents with grave interest. The tray itself was manufactured from a strange material; not as sturdy as metal or the solid mortar of the walls, but a stiff, lightweight substance. He prodded it, wondering how it was manufactured. Then there was the food, positioned neatly on the tray: a fruit with a pleasing red skin, a container of water that crinkled yet did not leak, and a wrapped item that proved to be two sponge-like pieces of white pastry, held together by a thick brown paste.

He tasted this first and nearly spat it out. Blandly sweet, it offered little resistance to his teeth. Was this old men's food, an insult to a warrior? The water and the fruit were more palatable, but the pastry left his symbiote uneasy. He left more than half of it untouched.

"Don't like peanut butter sandwiches, Teal'c?" O'Neill asked when he returned.

Teal'c considered, then said merely, "I do not."

Later, Captain Carter explained _additives_ and _preservatives_ and the odd human obsession for refining foods. Daniel Jackson introduced him to Middle Eastern cuisine, and the flatbreads, spices, and sauces were familiar enough to give Teal'c a strange feeling of loss. But it was O'Neill who showed him the unexpected delights of Tauri food: desserts such as ice cream and chocolate, doughnuts and other pastries, exotic fruits, carbonated beverages, marshmallows, and more. Most was of little nutritional value, but it gave pleasure... and what, after all, symbolized freedom more than excessive and unnecessary feasting?


	5. Help Us, Sergeant Siler, You're Our Only Hope!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For sallymn, who wanted _a story where Siler has to go offworld for some reason._ Here's a reason of sorts, anyway. :)

"You understand, Sergeant, this is strictly on a volunteer basis," General Hammond stressed.

"Yes, sir," Siler replied blandly. Then he waited. He was good at waiting people out. But Hammond stared back, lips pressed together, refusing to rise to the bait. With a slight inward sigh, Siler caved and spoke. "I'm sure there are plenty of qualified engineers on base, sir, who already have experience off-world."

"There are," Hammond conceded.

A full minute passed in strained silence before Siler reluctantly asked, "In that case, sir, why do you need me, specifically, to go to P3X-557 to help SG-8 with repairs? Is there a reason Captain Parelli can't take care of it herself?"

For the first time, Hammond looked slightly uncomfortable. "It's a cultural problem, Sergeant."

Siler's eyebrows shot up, and he winced. "General, that's not exactly my area of exper-"

"No, that's not what I mean," Hammond said hastily. "The problem is how the natives of P3X-557 perceive anyone who works with mechanical devices. 'Metal artists,' they call them. They'll only allow a fully-qualified metal artist do the repairs on that shield device. If we can get that fixed, they're perfectly willing to allow the SGC to mine for trinium. But they won't accept Captain Parelli as a metal artist."

"Because she's a woman, sir?" Siler blinked. "There are plenty of male engineers and repairmen available."

"No, they don't have a problem with Parelli because she's female." Hammond cleared his throat. "But they refuse to believe she's qualified because... Well, because she's too healthy."

"I - what?"

Hammond grimaced. "She's in good health, Sergeant. The natives don't believe that a person without any scars, wounds, or burns could possibly be a metal artist. They look at injuries as a mark of pride, a sign of experience. At least, that's what Doctor Abrams said," he added morosely.

Siler cleared his throat, desperately hoping he wasn't flushing. "You mean..."

"I mean, Sergeant, that there is no other qualified expert at the SGC wearing quite so many, ah, badges of honor," Hammond said, the first glint of humor in his eyes. "We could try cosmetics and stained bandages, of course, but that carries a risk."

Siler looked down at the two splinted fingers of his right hand, then raised his left hand to gently finger the stitches over his eyebrow. "Got it, sir," he said, resigned. "Consider me volunteered."


	6. Jaffa Hot Water Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Gategremlyn, who wanted "a fic where the team is very cold. Off world would be nice."
> 
> The team keeps warm while they wait out a storm offworld. General teamy fluffiness.

"I am trying," Sam said dreamily, "to picture Teal'c in fuzzy pink earmuffs."

Daniel choked on his tepid coffee. Teal'c raised a tolerant eyebrow. Jack snuffled a bit, then resumed his soft snores.

The mission had been a disappointment from the start: ruins that were mere jumbles of rock, zero signs of naquadah, and no people. They'd been halfway back to the Stargate when the lowering clouds unleashed a torrent of harsh, unrelenting hail. At least the network of caves that Teal'c spotted on their way to the not-very-ruined rocks provided them with emergency shelter until the storm ended; it kept them out of the wind, which Sam gloomily estimated was gusting at over 100 miles an hour.

It had been fourteen hours, now, with no sign of slackening. As night fell and the temperature plummeted, they huddled closer together, sharing mutual body heat and draping emergency blankets over themselves like a silvery poncho designed for four. They'd eaten MREs with little enthusiasm, appreciating the warmth if not the taste. Jack, with his uncanny ability to sleep anytime and anywhere he felt safe enough, quickly dozed off. The others shared sporadic conversation, including reminiscences about snowball fights, plans for tropical climates on future missions, and loving descriptions of cocoa with marshmallows. Daniel's waxing rhapsodic about Irish coffee prompted them to use their Sterno to heat water, although the hot liquid quickly cooled in the frigid air.

"Pink earmuffs," Sam repeated, eyeing Teal'c speculatively. "I think you could really pull it off."

"I think Teal'c could pull off anything he wanted." Daniel shrugged, draining his coffee. "I'm just not sure _why_."

"Perhaps Cassandra Frasier might appreciate such apparel," Teal'c suggested mildly.

"Oh, I don't have any." Sam grinned. "Just getting a little silly, I guess."

"It's the giddy hour," Daniel agreed, then spent ten minutes explaining the concept to Teal'c. Sam listened to the sound of Daniel's voice, letting it turn into a pleasant drone as her eyelids grew heavy. Unconsciously, she snuggled closer to Teal'c.

Daniel started yawning soon after Sam drifted off. Teal'c noted this and suggested that he sleep.

"Don't want to leave you on your own," Daniel protested.

"I shall _kel no reem_ ," Teal'c promised.

"Well...." Daniel, too, squirmed closer to Teal'c. "Did you know that Jaffa have a higher temperature than humans?" he mumbled.

"I know it now," Teal'c said, smiling. "Sleep well, Daniel Jackson."


	7. Interviewing the Little Doc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Aelfgyfu, who asked for Janet and Emmett Bregman in _Heroes_.

Emmett listened and took copious notes, trying to keep the incredulity off his face as Dr. Frasier described various crises that her medical staff had faced over the years. It wasn't a question of not believing her; it was, rather, wonder at her ability to be so _calm_ about managing six impossible things before breakfast. How could she sit there with that impish smile and coolly discuss how often the SGC had almost been wiped out?

Treating alien species. Discovering new viruses that didn't even exist on the planet. Healing injuries caused by weapons using forms of energy that had no parallel on Earth. Medical puzzles that would baffle the most brilliant minds, yet were solved by this petite doctor and her competent team.

"How do you cope with so much uncertainty?" he asked her at one point, when she'd finished explaining the connect-the-dots that had enabled them to find a cure for yet another alien organism that had run rampant over the base.

"I don't think we have a monopoly on the unknown here at the SGC," she answered, her animated face turning more serious. "Doctors have struggled with mysterious illnesses throughout history. There's always something new to discover, whether it's a mutated disease or fresh ideas for treatment. Our learning curve is a just a little steeper, that's all."

"So how do you isolate causes, when there are so many variables?"

Dr. Frasier leaned back in her chair, one manicured fingernail tapping absently on one of the closed files on her desk. "Trial and error, I suppose," she said at last. Her eyes lightened again. "More error than trial, sometimes. How can we tell what's causing erratic behavior? It could be something an SG team breathed in the air on an alien planet. Maybe the water purification tablets couldn't cope with some particular powerful bacteria. They might have eaten something they shouldn't have." She chuckled to herself. "There are other possibilities, too. Maybe someone got bitten by an insect with hallucinogenic properties in its toxin. Or maybe," she added wryly," there's an alien computer chip trying to play hide-and-seek."

"That's not just a metaphor, is it?" Emmett asked cautiously.

"No, it isn't. I only wish it was."

She didn't elaborate further, although she muttered something like _her go_ under her breath. Emmett fought temptation and didn't ask her for more details.

"So how about..."


	8. Defining Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For PoG, who wanted to know what Jack meant when he said that Jonas was a good man. A missing scene from _Fallen/Homecoming_ as Daniel tries to understand Jack's reasoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this doesn't read as pacifist!Daniel, but rather a somewhat uncertain Daniel who still doesn't quite have all his memories slotted back into place.

_"He said that you were a good man."_

_"Really? He said that?"_

_"Yeah. You're shocked he never let on?_ "

 

Daniel wasn't particularly surprised by Jack's assessment of Jonas or his failure to articulate it. While he still didn't know these people as much as he'd like, he was starting to _feel_ their reactions... and when Jack, eyes narrowed and voice cool, told him that Jonas was a good man, he could tell that Jack hadn't meant it as a compliment. What was more, he'd implied that Daniel _wasn't_ \- and that was apparently a good thing.

Understanding undercurrents of emotion was difficult with so many patches in his memory, but this one hadn't been too hard to comprehend. Jonas Quinn was a civilian trying to do his best in a military environment. It was inevitable that he would fall short, whether in his skill with firearms, a slower reaction time, an extra degree of hesitation in an emergency, or a lack of what soldiers considered to be healthy paranoia. That didn't make him wrong; on the contrary, it meant he was a decent person, behaving as most civilians do. But within the context of the SGC and their ongoing struggle, it seemed obvious that such "goodness" was something that Jack would prefer to avoid.

And if what he'd been told was true - that Jonas had been present during the crisis that caused his dying and subsequent Ascension, and had been too frightened to act - then that very civilian nature would be a constant thorn in Jack's side. Daniel could accept that understanding, even if he elected not to clarify Jack's meaning to Jonas. 

Teasing out the nuances of Jack's assessment of himself was a little more complicated. What did Jack mean by implying that Daniel _wasn't_ a good man? Was he merely suggesting a mirror image to Jonas, that Daniel was someone who had pushed his civilian identity aside to do what was needed? If that was the case, then to what degree had Daniel done so? Was it just an improved reaction time and the ability to handle a zat or a gun with ease, or was Daniel inured to killing when necessary?

 _When necessary._ Daniel shivered at that thought. That added caveat pretty much answered his own question.

So much was still missing. Daniel wished he knew which parts Jack approved... and how he would feel about them himself.


End file.
